


A Schmoopy Kind of Love

by bainsidhe



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Nugs, Schmoop, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bainsidhe/pseuds/bainsidhe
Summary: Loghain Mac Tir hates many things, and he DEFINITELY hates Orlesians.  Especially the annoying, chattering Orlesian bard in the Grey Warden's company.  Err.... he DOES hate her, doesn't he?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mahbecks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/gifts).



> Merry Christmas becks, hope you enjoy!

Loghain hated everything.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. He loved a (very) few things – Ferelden, his daughter, mabari hounds, and cheese (though he would admit the last only under extreme duress). He had loved a few things more, things that were now lost to him forever – his wife, her roses, Maric, Adalla, his parents. And, of course, Rowan, though the memories of her were so tinged with bittersweet pain that he dwelled on them seldom.

He was also compelled to admit that he no longer hated the Cousland boy. True, he'd believed him part and parcel of an Orlesian Grey Warden conspiracy, a belief that Rendon Howe had seen fit to nurture at every turn. What a pathetic weasel of a man Howe had been, and what a stain on Loghain's honor that he had ever deigned to trust him. It had turned out that there had been no Orlesian Grey Warden conspiracy after all, and Cousland had apparently arranged some bargain with Anora to spare her father's life in exchange for her hand in marriage. It was canny, Loghain granted him that, and though he was naturally suspicious of another young noble buck swooping in on his daughter after the disaster that had been Cailan, he found himself grudgingly admitting that the boy did seem to truly respect and honor his daughter and her strength, and, unlike Cailan, he certainly possessed more than a measure of strength of his own. The lad had been cordial and welcoming thus far, and Loghain's attitude towards him had shifted in turn. Truly, he possessed a rare spirit, much like Maric had, and perhaps, under his leadership, Ferelden could be saved from the Blight.

His motley band of companions, on the other hand were an entirely different issue. Where Cousland had managed to acquire such a ragtag troop of misfits Loghain could only wonder. The elf, at least, he could account for, recalling the almost erotic urgency with which Howe had urged him to hire the Antivan Crows to assassinate the young Wardens – but the others? That sullen marsh witch, who was an apostate and probably a blood mage; the dour Circle crone with pursed lips, who looked as though she smelled sour milk every time her eyes wandered over to him; the drunken dwarven oaf, who belched and swore with equal abandon. None of them, save perhaps the Circle hag, were suitable companions for a noble lordling.

But the worst of all, the absolute worst, was that _Orlesian._ His lip curled into a sneer just thinking about her. Her accent was like shards of broken glass raking slowly across his ears, her lips always pursed in that coy little pout that drove him insensible with vexation. Maker's mercy, she'd been an _Orlesian spy,_ and yet that Cousland boy trusted her as naively and willingly as a puppy. Loghain could admit that he'd been wrong about a great many things, but he point blank refused to believe that an Orlesian bard could be up to anything good.

Unfortunately, for all his merits otherwise, the Cousland boy had failed to heed any of Loghain's warnings. Worse, in his infinite wisdom, he had seen fit to send Loghain and the Orlesian out on a scouting mission together in the Hinterlands, ignoring all of the teyrn's protestations.

"She is an _Orlesian_ ," he'd grated. "I fail to see how you can trust her."

"You don't know her, Loghain," Aedan had said, in that infuriatingly calm voice of his. "She's a Chantry sister now, not an Orlesian agent. Give her a chance."

"Oh, well, if she's a _Chantry_ sister, that makes all the difference," Loghain had huffed. "Maker knows the Chantry isn't a puppet of Val Royeaux, no, not at all."

Aedan had then given Loghain the sort of expression that one gave to a stubborn child, which set Loghain's hackles to attention. "Listen, I understand why you don't trust Orlesians – "

"No you don't."

" – _but_ ," Aedan continued, as though Loghain hadn't just interrupted him, "not all Orlesians are bloodthirsty predators. Leliana is a kind, lovely woman. I couldn't have made it this far without her faith and support. Just give her a chance, will you?"

Loghain glowered balefully. "I submitted to you at the Landsmeet, and I swallowed your Grey Warden poison because you bade me. But you ask too much."

Aedan rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, for the Maker's sake, I'm not asking you to learn Orlesian, fall in love with her, and elope to Val Chevin," he said, and Loghain blanched in horror. "Just – be a civil adult, will you?"

"If this is your plot to send me off to my death, it is well conceived," Loghain bit out. "Do not be surprised if your Orlesian leaves me in the Hinterlands with a knife between my ribs."

"Oh, for the love of Andraste, if I'd wanted you dead, I'd have lopped off your bloody head at the Landsmeet," Aedan snapped, his long-suffering patience at last exhausted. "It's a good thing Anora loves you, or else I'd have been seriously tempted."

"Hmph." That had been the last he'd said on the matter, and, as Loghain was a man of his word, he had dutifully prepared to accompany the Orlesian to the Hinterlands. He had sworn to do a duty, after all, and by the Maker he would do it, even if it killed him.

But now that he was actually out on the open road with solely the Orlesian for company, he'd begun to wish Cousland had just executed him and had done with it. He sat before the campfire, his teeth grinding as he listened to the bard pluck away at her lute. He refused to admit that she was rather a decent player, and so he stared sullenly into the fire. He hoped that if he maintained a stony silence, the Orlesian would notice that he wanted nothing to do with her and keep her pouty little mouth shut.

Of course, he would have no such luck.

"Did you like my song, Loghain?" the Orlesian asked in her grating singsongy voice. "You haven't really said much since we set out."

He spared a glance towards her, his eyes narrowing at the look of sincere concern on her face. Artifice. Orlesian bards were masters of deception; she did not truly care about his mood or his opinions. He had to keep reminding himself, lest her big blue doe eyes trick him into thinking otherwise.

"It was tolerable." He had to admit to a certain degree of surprise that she had been so seemingly-friendly towards him. He'd braced himself before their trip, eagerly awaiting her hatred, her invective, and ready to return it in kind; her bewildering kindness, even if feigned, was not something he'd planned for.

"Only 'tolerable'?" she quipped, her full lips quirking upwards into a smile. "I shall have to work on my technique, then." She busied herself about the campfire, stirring the stew that merrily bubbled in the cauldron. "Do you prefer sage or rosemary with your stew?"

"I – sage, I suppose." What was going on? Why did she _care_ what kind of herbs he preferred? Loghain frowned. He had always been a man of action, and now was no exception – if the Orlesian wanted to play these games all night, he was having none of it. "What is this about, bard?"

"What is what about?" she replied, entirely nonplussed by his abrupt response. "I would not want to season the stew in a way you find unpleasant."

"Not the bloody stew," he groused. "You. You are being… _nice_. And I don't understand it. What is your agenda, Orlesian?"

"Why must there be an agenda, Loghain?" she said, meeting his glare with a challenging one of her own. "Why must there be an ulterior motive for everything in your mind? And my _name_ is Leliana. My nationality is not everything that I am. I was born in Ferelden, you know."

"Everyone has an ulterior motive, _Leliana_ ," he said, drenching her name with sarcastic emphasis. "I just cannot for the life of me figure yours out."

She rolled her eyes. "Perhaps I am asking your spice preference to disguise the flavor of the poison in the stew. That's your suspicion, yes?"

"Well, now that you mention it…"

"Oh, for the Maker's sake, I don't want to murder you, Loghain!" She narrowed her eyes and set her hands on her hips. "When will you stop being so paranoid? When will you stop seeing everyone as your enemy?" Without further ado, she stalked off into the bushes, leaving him alone with the campfire and the stew, and a surprising amount of regret.

He'd gotten what he wanted… hadn't he? She had finally surrendered to his barely-concealed hostility and abandoned her efforts to strike up conversation with him. So why did he feel so unexpectedly guilty? He reflected, as he stared into the fire. Yes, she was Orlesian, beyond a doubt, but… perhaps Aedan had been right. Perhaps he was being too harsh, too suspicious. She'd had numerous opportunities to harm him and the Cousland boy, and yet she persisted with her gentle nature, playing her lute and seasoning the stew as if he were an honored guest or friend, and not a former mortal adversary who did not even bother disguising his contempt for her.

Loghain had felt a great deal of regret in the past few weeks upon realizing just how misguided his actions after Ostagar had been, how consumed he'd been by fear of an Orlesian invasion that had never come. He'd misjudged Aedan completely, and perhaps he was misjudging Leliana too. Deciding to apologize, he rousted himself from before the fire.

That was when he first noticed the creature.

A pair of eerily glowing eyes caught his gaze from beneath Leliana's traveling pack, and Loghain started, his senses on full alert. Had some wild predator sought solace beneath the shadowy confines of their gear while the two of them had been consumed by their bickering? The thought gave Loghain pause as he realized he'd been so invested in being petulant about the Orlesian that he'd let his guard down. No vile tainted creature was going to slip into their camp and bite them in their sleep, not on his watch. Not that the taint could harm him any further, he reflected – but Leliana – er, _the Orlesian_ – was still susceptible to the slow death of the Blight sickness. Drawing his sword, he stalked towards the creature, determined to end the threat.

"No! Loghain, what are you doing!" The Orlesian shrieked, dropping the armful of herbs she'd harvested from the forest as she raced towards him, her arms waving him off frantically. "Don't you dare hurt Schmooples, or I swear to the Maker, you will wish I _had_ poisoned the stew!"

He regarded her with a mixture of irritation and utter confusion. "What on Thedas are you babbling on about, bard? Some foul beast has snuck into our camp and is currently hiding beneath your smallclothes. For all you know, it carries the Blight. Would you prefer I allowed it to bite you in your sleep?"

"He's not a foul beast!" she cried, and, to Loghain's horror, she reached down beneath her pack and swooped the thing up into her arms. "This is my Schmooples, and I love him, and you had better not hurt him, Loghain Mac Tir!"

Loghain was not a squeamish man, but he physically recoiled from the revolting creature the bard cradled to her breast like a baby. It was naked, its wrinkled pink skin almost translucent in the flickering light of the fire, and it had large floppy ears and oversized buck teeth. It was like a rabbit, he supposed, if rabbits inhabited a nightmare land of unspeakable terror.

"What is that thing?" he said, unable to disguise his revulsion. "It looks like a rabbit that's been skinned for the stewpot."

"He's a nug," Leliana retorted defensively, cradling the naked rat-rabbit to her ever closer. "And his _name_ is Schmooples. He is my pet and I love him."

"A pet." Loghain's lip curled. "A mabari is a true pet – an intelligent, loyal companion who bonds with its master for life. That thing belongs in my dinner crock."

"You're just as bad as those dwarves," she sniffed. "That's where I got Schmooples, you know. Well, actually Aedan got him for me. He was being raised for slaughter, but Aedan bought him from the merchant and gave him to me. And he's just so grateful that his mummy spared him from being a dwarf's dinner, isn't he?" To Loghain's disgust, she crinkled her nose and booped her face against the creature's, causing it to squeak at her. This was entirely too much.

"It isn't grateful," Loghain protested in vain. "It can't formulate the concept of gratitude. It's a rat, Leliana, for the Maker's sake! A naked, hideous rat that looks like it wants to devour your soul."

Leliana glared at Loghain for a moment, before sniffing in irritation. "You'll never understand, Loghain. You only see value in things that you already appreciate. If Aedan felt the same way, he never would have spared you at the Landsmeet. The true test the Maker puts forth for us is to see even the things we dismiss as unworthy as part of His creation, deserving of respect and even love."

As she retreated to her own tent, dismissing him without another word, Loghain found himself once again beset by an odd sense of remorse. He found the idea of keeping a naked rat as a pet patently ridiculous, of course; but Leliana's words about Aedan's choice to spare him at the Landsmeet gave him considerable food for thought. If the tables had been turned, if he had bested the young Cousland in single combat, he would not have spared a thought for mercy. And yet, in spite of all reason to the contrary, Aedan had refused to execute him. And Leliana… in the face of all his jibes and insults and mockery, she had shown him only kindness and consideration.

Loghain hated many things, but what he hated more than anything was being wrong. He had been wrong, disastrously so, during his regency, and it had cost him everything. He had been wrong about Aedan, too, and admitting that he had been such a disastrous judge of character was a bitter pill to swallow. Perhaps he was wrong about the Orlesian – Leliana – too.

He had much to think about in his own lonely tent.

* * *

 

The final battle was going disastrously.

The Orlesian Grey Warden had unsurprisingly gotten himself killed in a spectacularly stupid fashion, leaving Loghain and Aedan as the only remaining Wardens whose sacrifice could end the Blight for good. Loghain had immediately volunteered to be the man to take the final blow – Aedan was young, and now betrothed to his daughter; and besides, Loghain felt an immense degree of responsibility for the direness of their situation, and if his death could begin to put things to rights, then it was truly the least he could do. Aedan had appeared troubled at his request, and had only responded obliquely that perhaps it "wouldn't be necessary." Loghain had no clue what he meant by that, but now that the battle was raging, he began to suspect that the young Warden had taken it upon himself to make the sacrifice after all. What else could explain how Loghain was stuck fighting at the front gates, holding the darkspawn horde off from further rampaging within the city, while Aedan and the mages assaulted the Archdemon at Fort Drakon themselves?

"Concentrate your fire!" he bellowed at the archers peppering the darkspawn forces with fire arrows. "Focus on their leaders!"

The dwarf and the elf were a team, scything through groups of darkspawn with their blades. Loghain scanned the battle for sight of Leliana. After their contentious trip to the Hinterlands, Loghain had made a conscious effort to be kinder to her. He'd stopped calling her "the Orlesian," and even refrained from mocking her naked rat pet (to her face, at least – the thing still gave him the shivers). In return, she'd opened up even more, telling him stories of her barely-remembered childhood in Ferelden and of her own journey of redemption, from assassin to Chantry sister. Where once he'd found her accent grating and insufferable, he now found her voice soft and sweet, even melodious; while he'd once found her full lips and wide eyes to be pouty and childlike, he now recognized the beauty of her gentle features. He knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but he had been keeping an eye on her during the battle, making certain she was not facing more trouble than she could handle.

A prickle of alarm tingled across his spine as he scanned the battlefield and didn't see Leliana. The bard had just been to his right, ably directing the archers with her own concentrated fire, but now the troop of soldiers stood alone, with Leliana nowhere to be seen. Frowning in concern, Loghain lofted his blade and made his way towards the swarming darkpawn. There – a flash of red hair –

She was surrounded by a snarling pack of hurlocks, rapidly firing arrow after arrow, but the hurlocks – clearly troop leaders, for they had identified Leliana as a particular threat – bore down on her steadily, and they had her significantly outnumbered. Even as fast as she was, she couldn't hope to hold off so many darkspawn on her own.

"Leliana!" he cried, brandishing his blade and charging into the fray. He cut down one hurlock, then another; realizing that Leliana was no longer the sole threat, the darkspawn snarled and charged towards him. He parried a blow with his shield while gutting another monster, but the numbers that had been nearly ready to overwhelm Leliana were now focused on him, and there was only so much one blade could do against a swarm of foes.

A sharp pain lanced into Loghain's side as a darkspawn axe found its mark, and Loghain lifted his head to behold the macabre grin of a monster, its sword raised and ready to crash down on his head. His shield still rang from the blow it had blocked, and he dimly realized that he did not have enough time to bring it over to block the blade that now whistled towards his head. It was an odd moment, that seemed to exist out of time – the realization that such a mundane thought was the last one he'd ever have. He hoped Leliana would be able to fight her way out.

A loud, booming crash, like a clap of thunder, roared through the air, and a blinding white light flashed through the sky. The darkspawn whose sword was about to cleave Loghain in two paused, frozen in mid-swing, and it turned its head this way and that, as if in confusion. Loghain, though confused himself, regained enough control of his senses to bring his sword up and around, severing the hurlock's head from its shoulders. The rest of the darkspawn, which still outnumbered the two beleaguered humans, cast about in confusion and fear, the fight gone out of them, before dropping their weapons. With a shudder, Loghain realized what had happened – Aedan had slain the Archdemon, and it was no longer controlling its armies. With a pang in his heart for the man he'd grown to consider a friend, he cut down the remaining hurlocks in a show of righteous fury, every blow struck in vengeance for his homeland. When at last the hurlocks lay dead and his blood rage seeped from him, he saw that Leliana, too, lay on the ground, her red hair fluttering about her, a hurlock dead beside her, impaled with an arrow in its throat.

"No," he gasped, stumbling over to where the bard lay fallen. "Not after all this, you'd better not be dead, Orlesian." He dropped to his knees, feeling for a pulse and thanking the Maker when he felt a weak flutter beneath his fingers as he pressed them against her throat. Lifting her in his arms, he was surprised at how light she was as he carried her towards the triage area.

Loghain had never been an overly religious man – his childhood, marred by the atrocities committed by the Orlesians, had dimmed his faith in a merciful Maker. But now he found himself longing for the faith of the woman in his arms, a woman who had been injured by the world as well, and who had responded not with bitterness, or hatred, but with kindness and love. And so, for her, Loghain prayed for the first time in as long as he could remember, that the Maker find some mercy in His heart for one who had given so much.

* * *

 

Loghain rummaged through the tent, cursing under his breath. The battle was over, and he could still hear the cheering and celebration from the city outside. Aedan, to his surprise, had emerged from Fort Drakon unscathed, offering no explanation for why Riordan's grim tidings had not come true.

"Perhaps he was wrong," Cousland had said. "It's been centuries since the last Blight. Perhaps the legend of the Wardens had grown over the years, and a sacrifice isn't really necessary. Who can say?" Loghain wasn't entirely sure he believed the younger man, but in truth, he was grateful enough for the turn of events that he didn't see fit to raise his suspicions. Anora seemed happy to wed the younger Cousland, and a marriage to the newly-christened Hero of Ferelden would cement her claim to the throne, so how could he be anything but happy?

Leliana, on the other hand, had been touch and go ever since her injury. The mages had been monitoring her for signs of the Blight sickness, and they believed she was nearly out of the woods, but she had lost enough blood that she remained weak. Loghain had checked on her every day, taking time out of the celebrations and fetes being thrown for the victorious Grey Wardens to talk to the woman who had helped save him from his own bitterness. He owed her more than he'd ever bothered to tell her before the battle, and he had much to atone for.

Which was why he was currently rummaging through her belongings, cursing.

"Where in the Void are you, little bugger?" he snarled, upending pieces of leather armor and soft tunics. "Your mum's going to kill me if you die on my watch."

With a squeak, Schmooples crawled out from beneath a pair of knickers, its hideous little naked body wriggling with what Loghain surmised was delight. Suppressing a shudder, he picked it up and held it awkwardly in his palm, daring to scratch its oddly leathery skin with a tentative finger. The nug made a purring noise, and Loghain supposed that meant it was happy. Abruptly, it squeaked, casting its beady eyes on Loghain in what might have been consternation.

"Yes, I know, I'm a poor substitute," he lamented. "To be honest, I have no idea what she sees in you. You're horribly ugly, and not very smart. But there's no accounting for taste." With a grimace, Loghain shook his head.

"I'm talking to a nug. Maker, I must be going mad."

Bundling up Schmooples in a blanket, he made his way through the army camp, now become a large field hospital. He entered the sick tent and found his way to Leliana's bed, where, to his surprise and delight, she was sitting upright, a healer fussing over her.

"I said I'm fine!" she protested, waving away the healer. "I'm certain there are wounded more in need of your services than me."

"Now, don't take that tone with me, young lady," the healer, a portly older woman with a stern visage, admonished. "You've only just been cleared for Blight sickness, and you're still not at your best. I suppose I can clear you to leave, but don't you be overdoing it now!"

Leliana laughed now, her good humor returning as she caught Loghain out of the corner of her eye. "Of course, mum," she said. Turning to Loghain as the healer bustled away, she smiled at him shyly. "Look who it is. Come to visit your Orlesian?"

Loghain harrumphed as he took a seat next to her. "I've come to visit my friend. She told me once that nationality isn't everything."

Leliana blushed faintly. "She sounds wise. Perhaps you should listen to her more often," she teased.

Loghain returned her smile with a small one of his own. "I have," he said quietly. "I don't think she realizes just how much she's changed me for the better. I was once a bitter man, filled with hate. She made me realize that I was only poisoning myself."

Leliana's smile faded as the solemnity of his words sunk in. "I didn't… I never realized that you felt that way," she said, her voice betraying her fear of the uncertain ground on which she tread.

"I should have told you," he said, and, slowly, shyly, he reached out to take her hand. "I meant to apologize to you, that first night in the Hinterlands. For being such an arse. But I always found ways to redirect my thoughts, to avoid the conversation, to keep myself from admitting how much you affected me, how much you were changing me. You might be surprised to hear it, but I don't particularly like change." At this, Leliana laughed, although her eyes were focused on his hand, his rough callused fingers slowly tracing hers.

"So why now?" she said, daring to slip her hand in his, curling her fingers around his.

"I almost lost you," he responded simply. "For one brief, terrible moment, I thought I had. I've left so much unsaid in my life, and I didn't – "

A loud, indignant squeak interrupted his moving soliloquy, and Leliana's eyes lit up with delight as Schmooples squirmed his way out of Loghain's blanket and hopped onto her lap.

"Schmooples! I was afraid I'd lost you!" She cast her eyes at Loghain in wonder. "You've been taking care of him?"

He shrugged, harrumphing softly in reply. "I still don't understand why you have a naked rat for a pet, but it's clearly important to you, so…" He trailed off as Leliana cuddled her rat-thing, her look of pure joy melting all his objections.

"Thank you, Loghain," she said. She looked up at him with bright eyes. "You've been such a kind, dear friend to me. Thank you."

He smiled back at her, this time wider. He didn't want to misread the expression in her eyes, but –

– suddenly she was leaning in close, and before he could move or react, her lips brushed against his, at first tentatively, and then with increasing passion and vigor as he responded to her kiss.

She pulled back first, her eyes sparkling with joy and desire, and Loghain could see his own delight reflected in her loving gaze.

"You know, sometimes the Maker gives us exactly what we need," she said, twining her fingers around his. Looking at the smiling, gentle face of the woman he was growing to care for very much indeed, he found himself inclined to agree.

"Indeed He does," Loghain said, and when he moved in for a second, more ardent kiss, Leliana met him halfway.

Below the lovers, Schmooples emitted an excited squeak.


End file.
